


The Remodel

by GSJwrites



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4340366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GSJwrites/pseuds/GSJwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson wants to buy a fiberglass shower enclosure to freshen up his master bath, but design consultant Kurt Hummel has other ideas. Home Depot!Klaine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Remodel

**Author's Note:**

> Written in September 2012 and posted to S&C, transferred here as part of Glee A03 Fic Fest.

“You really don’t want to go with fiberglass.”

The unsolicited advice from behind his right shoulder startled Blaine, spinning him around and into the airy voice. “I’m sorry?”

“Fiberglass. It’s only good for so long. It can chip and crack and break and, let’s face it, no. Just, no. If you’re thinking about a new shower, why not go tile?” said the man, holding out his hand. “Kurt Hummel, design department.”

“I’m Blaine and … um … are you really supposed to talk about your merchandise like that?”

“My job is design and that,” he said, pointing to the generic shower enclosure, “is not design.”

“You work for Home Depot? Aren’t you supposed to be wearing an orange vest?”

Kurt shot him a look that said, You must be kidding. The design department was allowed a certain amount of discretion, he said, and his discretion said that Home Deport orange was much too bright a color to ever compliment his skin tone. 

Indeed. 

Blaine had been known to occasionally enjoy the view at his local home improvement center. But Kurt Hummel, design department manager, had a look that put the employees in the lumber, plumbing and electrical sections to shame. Skinny jeans that belonged on a dance floor, not in a showroom, a slim-fit Henley shirt and a tailored vest — gray heather, not orange. It left Blaine wondering why he hadn’t considered a remodeling project earlier.

“What are you really looking for in a shower, Blaine? It can be utilitarian, or it can be inviting. It can be zen. It can be decadent. What do you want in your shower?”

Blaine had a feeling the answer that first came to mind couldn’t be purchased at Home Depot. 

Kurt held a finger parallel to his lips, and eyed Blaine from head-to-toe and back again, leaving Blaine feeling a little exposed — and a little like Kurt Hummel, designer might also be Kurt Hummel, mind reader.

“I was just going to clean it up,” he gulped.

“Have you ever thought of your bath as a refuge? As a reflection of yourself? It’s not just paint and a shower stall, Blaine. Think how much more you could get from a steam shower, or a double tub.”

“More?” Blaine asked, off-balance.

“And here, look at these glass tiles,” Kurt continued, pointing out the mosaic panels of square glass in rich shades of olive, amber and brown. “They’d make a spectacular shower stall. Very soothing — and they’d go with your eyes.”

With that, he held his stare beyond a comfortable beat before scribbling on the back of a business card and handing it over.

“If you’d like to go into more detail, just give me a call.”

* * *

He'd palmed the business card countless times, rolling it in his fingers, considering

One side, corporate formality. Name, title, phone and extension. The familiar orange corporate logo.

One the other, what appeared to be an invitation. A neatly penned name, Kurt, and another phone number, in a different area code.

There was little doubt in Blaine's mind -- or at least his imagination -- that Kurt Hummel, home improvement center design department manager, had extended a veiled invitation that stretched well beyond giving him advice on shower tile.

And, oh, his imagination had grown oh so colorful since their meeting a week earlier. The skinny jeans and those remarkable eyes had seared an indelible impression in Blaine's mind, and his plan to merely replace a shower stall had been as good as thrown out the moment Kurt suggested he call him for design advice.

His mind raced.

A double tub? Done. Anything you want. Just promise to share it with me. A steam shower? Of course, but please, help me steam it up.

But he had been unable to will himself to use the number. What if Kurt was just a good salesman with a talent for converting flirtatious banter into an up-sell? 

Then why would he give you his cell phone number, Blaine?

His internal argument continued like this for a week, and always ended with his setting the card aside, to be considered again later.

Enough!

Blaine picked up his phone, and dialed.

"Hello?"

Blaine immediately recognized the sing-song lilt to the voice.

"Um, yes, um, is this Kurt?"

"Yes."

"Um, yes, this is Blaine Anderson. We discussed a possible shower remodel last week ... I'm not sure if you remember me ..."

"Mmm. Vividly. How may I help you?"

Breathe, Blaine.

"Yes, um, hello."

"You already said that."

"Yes, um, well, I was considering what you said about a remodel instead of just replacing the fiberglass stall ..."

"Yes?"

"And I was wondering ..."

"Yes?"

Kurt's voiced sounded teasing and confident, as if he already knew Blaine wanted much more than a consultation, and that he was enjoying every stumble of Blaine's verbal gymnastics.

"... if you would consider a design consult? Oh, I really don't know what I'm doing."

"I doubt that."

"Maybe you could come over and see the space? Or maybe we could discuss it..."

"Over drinks?"

"Um, yes. Drinks. Good. Drinks."

"You're very monosyllabic, Mr. Anderson."

"Please, Blaine."

"Blaine. Blaine, I would love to see the space. I would love to discuss it over drinks. And I would absolutely love to share my ideas with you."

"You already have design ideas for me?"

"Yes, those too."

* * *

Blaine was trying on his third pair of pants in the last 10 minutes.

First it was the heather gray slacks. He turned slowly in front of the floor mirror, mentally checking himself out. Nice drape. Good tailoring around the ass, but too ... formal. Next. 

So he let the fashion pendulum swing to the other extreme, to the bright red chinos. Blaine knew those pants like he knew the Katy Perry song catalogue. He rocked the red chinos. Those pants did wonders for him, and vice versa, but they screamed, "Look at my ass!" Not that that was a bad thing. They were just too ... loud. Next.

So there he stood, in selection number three: Dark washed Levis. The 511s, skinny enough to clutch the areas they should, without looking like a teenage skateboarder ditching class. Serious adult skinny jeans, paired with a slim-fit Penguin polo and a tailored, coordinating cardigan. All body-conscious enough to hint at what was underneath, without being overt about it.

"What the hell am I doing?" he asked himself.

The last time he had been this stressed about choosing the right sexy-but-not-trying outfit was his first date with his last boyfriend, but this wasn't even a date. Not necessarily. But maybe. Hopefully.

He took one last approving look, heaved a sigh, grabbed his keys and wallet, and left.

****

He walked into the darkened restaurant bar and let his eyes adjust for a moment. It didn't matter, because there might as well have been a spotlight pointed on the crossed legs in the skinniest of shiny waxed jeans spun a quarter-turn from the bar. Blaine's eyes focused quickly, scanning up past the tight black turtleneck and the collarless leather jacket to the finger slowly circling the rim of a dirty, dirty martini.

As Blaine stood in the entryway, simply absorbing the view, Kurt looked up from his drink and locked eyes. Blaine had to consciously take a breath. A deep one.

"Well, hello there," Kurt said, in a deeper tone that Blaine remembered.

"Hi!" he responded, in a voice higher than his usual register, bordering on squeaky.

Kurt's finger resumed its circle of the glass. He eyed the barstool next to his, inviting Blaine to sit. "Drink?"

"Yes, yes, drink. Good," said Blaine, once again losing his ability to use verbs around the attractive designer. Blaine mentally shook himself off, sat down and looked Kurt in the eye. "Scotch, straight up please."

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Kurt said, flagging the bartender. 

Blaine regained his balance by diving straight into business. "I'm glad you could meet me this evening," he said. "I was thinking about what you said, um, about remodeling, and, um I was hoping you might have some ideas for me."

"Oh, I've had plenty of ideas," Kurt said, sipping his drink. "All kinds of ideas."

Blaine paused, a bit dumbstruck, his eyebrows climbing his forehead in shock.

"Look," Kurt said, backing off just a little. "You want me to work with you on this? I believe design shouldn't just fit the space. It needs to reflect the person. So we should get to know each other, maybe over dinner? You can tell me all about yourself, and then maybe we can go from there."

One drink became two. Two drinks became dinner. Dinner became a late night of talk, of histories, of dreams. Bathroom fixtures didn't even factor into the discussion until plates were cleared and coffees served.

"Do you still want me to see the space?" Kurt asked. 

"Are you inviting yourself over?"

"That depends. If you're serious about me consulting on a redesign, then I'll need to see it sometime. If, on the other hand, this evening was just a ruse to see me again, then what happens next is entirely up to you."

Once again, Kurt had stolen Blaine's ability to respond. So he did the next best thing.

"Waiter? Check, please."

* * *

Kurt followed the taillights of Blaine’s SUV up the hill. Either Blaine was intentionally moving at a snail’s pace, or Kurt was more anxious than he’d realized. He’d been driving a manual transmission since he was a teenager, but his BMW lurched and staggered from each stop sign like his first turn behind the wheel with a student driver permit.

“Calm down, Hummel,” he said to himself, stealing a glance of himself in the rear view mirror.

He may have played it cool with Blaine at the restaurant, and he’d flat-out stalked him at work that first day, but the fact of the matter was he was terrified. He’d seen Blaine in the store before, picking out paint or lighting, but he never had a legitimate reason to approach him until that day in the design department.

He saw an opportunity and he seized it, moving with a confidence that masked the bundle of nerves wound tightly just under the surface. He had never been so assertive before, but if this was to be his only chance with the beautiful stranger with the bad bathroom, then he was not going to let it slip by.

He’d never been so aggressive in his pursuit of someone before, but he also made sure to give himself an out if all Blaine really wanted was advice on installing a shower stall.

The hours they’d just spent in the restaurant — talking, leaning into each other, occasionally touching a hand or forearm for emphasis — and their quick departure indicated that any remodeling job was not Blaine’s current priority, even if it was the excuse they both had used to rationalize after-dinner drinks at Blaine’s home.

Now Blaine was pulling into a driveway and Kurt was gulping down his nerves as he parked alongside him.

“Here we are,” Blaine said, shrugging. “Home sweet home.” “Here we are,” Kurt said, walking alongside him. They walked side-by-side, nearly but not quite touching, to the front door of the hillside cottage.

Blaine opened the door, flipped on the entry light and held the door open for Kurt, who paused just as he reached the threshold. He looked down at the floor, then met Blaine’s gaze and took a noticeable breath.

“I don’t really want a drink.”

“No?” Blaine whispered, his eyes wide.

“No, no drinks.”

Kurt leaned forward, tilted his head just so, and pressed his lips to Blaine’s. He rested his hand against Blaine’s shoulder, and as Blaine pressed into kiss and opened his mouth, clutched it tightly.

* * *

Standing in the threshold of his home, heart racing, his body melding into Kurt's, Blaine found himself unable to translate his thoughts into words. Each thought, each response summed up in a breathless single word: Okay.

No, no more drinks.

"Okay."  
Kiss me again.

"Okay"

Take me to bed.

"Okay."

Hours later, he stood in the doorway of his bedroom, watching the sleeping figure, sheets draped recklessly down his back.

This wasn't what Blaine had expected from the assertive, provocative and somewhat intimidating man he'd first met at the Home Depot. Kurt Hummel, design consultant, had gotten under Blaine's skin with bravado and sexual innuendo.

But the Kurt Hummel currently snoring softly in his bed had been kind, gentle, willing and responsive. This was a different Kurt entirely, one that had emerged over drinks and bloomed in Blaine's bed.

Blaine didn't know exactly what he had expected when he asked for the check and told Kurt to follow him up the hill to his home. Maybe something hot, and rushed, and even a little rough.

He would have been OK with that.

Instead, he experienced soft, tentative kisses, lingering touches and increasingly incoherent whispers urging him on.

This wasn't the man he expected.

Kurt shifted in his sleep and moaned softly.

But it was the man he wanted, the man he had fantasized about, the man he had dreamed of meeting and making a life with years earlier. A murmured voice shook him out of his revery.

"Mmmm. Where'd you go?"

Blaine smiled to himself in the darkness, and approached the bed. He climbed back in and settled behind Kurt, wrapping him in his arms.

"I'm right here."


End file.
